


The doubtful times of war

by sshysmm



Category: Lymond Chronicles - Dorothy Dunnett
Genre: Bittersweet, F/F, Femslash February, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:28:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23103973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sshysmm/pseuds/sshysmm
Summary: Eloise Crawford, thirteen and headstrong, has managed to sneak home for a visit though she's recently been placed in the convent at Lymond. Word travels fast, and she already has a visitor of her own.Another prompt for f/f February! Cuteness with a tinge of sadness, and the general louring spectre of Gavin over it all.
Relationships: Eloise Crawford & Christian Stewart, Eloise Crawford/Christian Stewart
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	The doubtful times of war

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to [Erinaceina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erinaceina/pseuds/Erinaceina) for the idea and [word_docs_and_willowboughs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/word_docs_and_willowboughs/pseuds/word_docs_and_willowboughs) for advice on how convents and clothing actually worked (which I then proceeded to handwave and attribute misunderstandings to Gavin whoops).

"Hello, Sybilla!"

"Well hello, my dear!"

The girl tore herself from her nurse's grip and stepped expectantly towards the voice that had greeted her with such warmth. After a moment, cool, soft hands took hers and clasped them together.

"Christian! You always do have such impeccable timing, I am so glad you are here."

Christian Stewart let herself be enveloped in a hug that smelled of fresh linens and lavender, and she laughed at the way Sybilla's bead-embroidered gown tickled and scratched her cheek. "Well, when I heard Eloise was visiting I had to come. Are she and Francis in the tower?"

Sybilla's hands tightened on Christian's arms for a moment, but she heard the hesitation in the older woman's breath, too. "Yes, Eloise is in Francis's room, with the books. I'm afraid you won't meet Francis today though, he is...completing some tasks for my Lord Culter."

Christian's expression was one of innocent enquiry, but Sybilla did not elaborate. She did lead Christian to the tower stairs herself though, and walked up their narrow, winding contours at the girl's elbow, flicking the hem of Christian's skirts aside when she deemed it necessary.

"Two more steps, and there you are," Sybilla said lightly. "Eloise! Visitor for you."

Christian knew that Sybilla waited until she had entered the room: her scent lingered close by, and her breathing was a little exercised by the steep steps. But these sensations were nearly drowned by the flood of energy that swept the door open at the top of the stairs.

In the gust of air, Christian heard thin paper and rolled parchment rustle. She smelled ink and sun-warmed leather, the damp of old, cold stone and the indefinable presence of her friend.

Eloise Crawford cried out in joy and flung her arms about Christian without warning - her mere proximity was preamble enough for the blind girl. Eloise drew her into the little room, thanked Sybilla with a modicum of decorum and shut the door behind Christian with a firm and decisive click.

"How did you know I was here?" Eloise took Christian's hand and guided her to sit on the edge of the unmade bed.

"It's a miracle, after all, ye didn't write!" Christian paused. "Or at least, I didn't see your letter..."

Eloise scoffed and Christian cut her off. "But ye ken how the stable hands talk. One of them told me he'd seen ye ride out from Lymond yesterday e'en."

Eloise was silent, but Christian filled in the gap with the distracted way Eloise's fingers stroked her knuckles, with the soft sound of her petulant sigh and her stillness on the hard mattress.

"I told Gavin I had dispensation. I'm not sure he believes me, but Francis has been keeping him occupied, so I don't think he'll be worrying so long as I go back soon - I suppose I'm lucky he has so little interest in educating himself on the details of convent life."

With mischief, Christian asked: "No dispensation?"

Eloise made a sound of exasperation. "No. The girls said they would cover for me if I helped with their Latin."

"Of course. So what's he done now?"

"The usual," was Eloise's airy response. "Provocation and mayhem. It was quoting from _Il Principe_ that really did it this time. Gavin's not a fan of Italian... _Non si può, adunque, attribuire alla fortuna o alla virtù quello che sanza l'una e l'altra fu da lui conseguito_."

Christian laughed dourly, and Eloise's voice joined hers in cynical harmony.

"Well I'm sorry if he's in trouble," Christian squeezed Eloise's hands.

"Don't be. He's my brother to worry about. He doesn't know entirely what it is he does..." Eloise's voice trailed off.

"Eloise?"

Christian felt, from the slight movement of her body on the mattress and her hands in Christian's, that Eloise must have made a vigorous physical negation.

"It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter." Her voice brightened with determination. "Go on then, ask me about the convent."

Christian let herself laugh for Eloise's sake. She had been ever more in need of cheer when they met before she left for the convent, and Christian was only too pleased to provide it. Knowing that she brought some joy to Eloise made her feel dizzy and disoriented, like she was standing alone in a strange room, with no idea of where the walls or the furniture were. It should have been scary, but when she knew Eloise was in that strange room with her she felt she could do anything.

"All right! Tell me about the convent. Do ye sing? Do ye play? What books do they have?"

"Yes, no, and many volumes, though few I have not encountered here in Francis's collection." Eloise's voice sounded like a smile.

"Well, what else, then? Do ye like it?"

The other girl sighed. "It is not so bad. Sybilla made sure they were a kind order. And it is good to learn new things."

"I thought I'd be for the convent myself for certain," Christian mused.

Eloise's voice - breathy, with a forced giggle - had the ring of nervousness. "You still could be - come and join me when you're sixteen."

Christian, who loved her friend dearly, but had always been glad not to be treated as an embarrassment to be hidden away in a cloister, squealed: "Can ye _imagine_ what aunt Jenny would say? Nay, ye'll have to leave at sixteen. Soon as ye can, mind. I'm confident ye'll have read all their books by then."

Again Eloise fell silent, and only her hands spoke, her thumbs riding back and forth over Christian's knuckles. "Not if Gavin has his way," she murmured at last. "He made me cut my hair, Christian. The nuns think I'm some kind of religious maniac, looking to prove myself ready for orders early."

"Och no, your pretty hair," Christian said - with, she supposed, just the right aspect of grief. It was anger that tightened her grip on Eloise's fingers though. Anger she supposed she had no right to - Eloise was as protective of her feelings about Gavin as she was about the fights her brother chose to pick with him. Christian, who came from a house of love and mirth, of flippant, joyous vivacity, did not know how to ask about the dark corners of Midculter.

But now, Eloise took her hands and lifted them, and Christian's heart suddenly beat fast, so that she had to strain to hear beyond it. Eloise pressed her palms together like they were at prayer and then drew Christian's hands apart, raising them to shoulder height and above, and guiding Christian's fingertips to the blunt edges of Eloise's hair.

"No veil?"

Eloise chuckled. "Who's here to tell?"

Christian wiggled her fingers free of Eloise's grip and stretched out to feel the soft ends between thumb and forefinger. She followed the cropped line around the other girl's jaw and neck until her hands met at the back of Eloise's head. Then, aware that she was smiling lopsidedly and that her cheeks felt very warm, Christian ruffled her fingers forwards through the tips of Eloise's hair and laid her hands on the other girl's face.

"It's very short," Christian admitted. "But I am sure it suits ye."

She felt Eloise's cheeks move as she smiled. "How can you say so?"

Christian shook her head from side to side and chuckled. "It's...light. Like you. It feels cheerful, somehow."

"Are you saying I lack substance?" Eloise tilted her face and put on a deep accent that was perhaps meant to be an imitation of Gavin's.

Both girls laughed, and Christian kept her hands on Eloise's face, Eloise with her own grip on the backs of Christian's hands, and then Eloise sighed in a way that perfectly belied Christian's description of her cheerfulness. "I have missed you a lot, Christian," she murmured, and touched her lips to the inside of Christian's wrist.

Christian shivered, though whether it was from the kiss or the tone of her friend's voice she could not say.

**Author's Note:**

> The title and the quote are from _Il Principe_ , chapter 8:  
> [Non si può, adunque, attribuire alla fortuna o alla virtù quello che sanza l'una e l'altra fu da lui conseguito](http://www.ibiblio.org/ml/libri/m/MachiavelliNB_IlPrincipe_s.pdf) ([What he achieved cannot be attributed either to fortune or to genius](https://www.constitution.org/mac/prince08.htm)).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] The doubtful times of war by sshysmm](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24312598) by [CompassRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CompassRose/pseuds/CompassRose)




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